


Burning Blue Eyes

by ikijai



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys In Love, Drama, Drinking, Friendship, M/M, No Walkers, Smoking, just an idea I thought up ??, platonic until it isn't, yup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:16:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikijai/pseuds/ikijai
Summary: Rick and Daryl meet in the park. Other than that I'm truly terrible at writing summaries.alternate universe. where they're younger and there's no walkers.





	1. thunder

They're in the park when it happens and there's people passing in every direction. When they see each other, the whole world freezes in time, and there's no background noise that could possibly disturb this opportune moment. It's almost like they understand every terribly written quote about how all you can see is you and that person. In this moment, time isn't important. What is important is that there's something in the universe pulling them towards each other and neither has the intention to stop it. That's what they know as blue-grey eyes burn holes into vibrant, bluer ones.

Rick can't feel his damn lungs inside his pounding chest, yet in some ironic oxymoron, he feels calm. It's pouring out and they're a good distance away from each other-both soaking wet and each one's vision distorted-yet neither can bring themselves to look away from the intense gaze they share. They don't know if it's two seconds or two hours before they're walking towards each other, intent on being in the same place once and for all. At least one of them is. The other man appears undisturbed, each of his movements insignificant yet important at the same time. 

As Rick comes closer and closer, more about this strange person is unveiled. He looks young, possibly the same age as him or a couple years older. His hair is thick and wild and there's wet parts of it falling all into his face, but those eyes are still so apparent through the uneven strands. There's a half-smoked cigarette hanging loosely from his parted lips, as if he's forgotten it's there at all. The nameless man seems to straighten out as Rick comes to a stop a couple feet away, and his poker face doesn't falter an inch.

"I-" Rick is cut off before he can further embarrass himself, and he's relieved that his nerves have the opportunity to calm down. It feels like he's in trouble.

"I know you?" the other man utters. It's as much a statement as it is a question.

"I don't think so?" Rick replies too quickly, his own voice unrecognizable and an octave or two higher than usual.

He has no idea what he's doing or why he's doing it, but it's too late to turn back. That point in time has passed. He wipes drops of water out of his face, though it's useless. The downpour is incessant. His lack of umbrella is just now painfully hitting him. The other man, however, doesn't seem to mind the oncoming storm.

The stranger's upper lip twitches in a way that's proud but not cocky before his left eyebrow quirks up. He pulls the cigarette from between his lips and throws it to the ground, watching as the water puts the flame out before he can stomp down on it. He is the personified image of defiance.

Thunder sounds off above, yet it still isn't enough to make Rick tear his wondering eyes away from the unimpressed young man standing before him. Now that he's got a good look at him, he notices angular cheekbones and lips twisted in what can only be described as a grimace. Rick can tell that he's trying to intimidate him, and it would've worked if he weren't so intrigued. Though it's pouring, the man wears a sleeveless top, his tattoos prominent and intricate in ways Rick doesn't have time to identify. The stranger's eyes are cold-as-ice and unfaltering in their obvious disdain for these types of situations.

"Well," Rick mutters, aware that he's been staring and picking up on the partial-stranger's nerves. He holds his hand out in front of him, just like his dad taught him to. It's the only thing left to try. "I'm Rick Grimes. It's nice to meet you."

The partial-stranger's hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He hesitates, and though it's just for an instant, Rick notices. He grabs the outstretched hand and gives it a soft squeeze, which surprises Rick. This man is all tough and hard as nails on the outside, but on the inside, he's soft and preserved. It's almost terrifying that he already picks up on this. This man has put up protective walls and Rick has just tried to tear them down like they don't exist. It's obvious. 

"I'm Daryl. Dixon." The voice is gruff, probably from years of smoking or something else entirely. But it has smooth, pleasant tones just beneath the surface.

As soon as he hears this admission of truth, a sense of familiarity fills Rick's lungs. They don't know each other, but in a way, it feels like they do. It's why Rick isn't scared of Daryl's tough guy act. It's why Daryl understands Rick's tense hesitation, though it's practically just the two of them. Rick isn't usually the type of person who cares what others think, but he finds it impossible not to care about the impression he's trying to leave right now.

Rick decides that he likes _Daryl's_ voice and his unique way of presenting himself. Like he's aware of people watching him at all times but he doesn't give a damn. He doesn't try to intervene. Daryl is defensive, and it's painfully obvious. Rick wonders why and there's a part of him deep down that hopes he'll get all the time in the world to know.

Now they're just standing, and suddenly Daryl's all too shy and way too interested in the drops of rain pounding from above.

"Damn it," Daryl mutters, looking down to search his pockets for another smoke and coming up empty handed.

Everything's wet and uncomfortable and it seems as though every drop of water in the universe has chosen this exact place to drip down into. People continue to walk by as though it's just another day in the park. Daryl's an introvert. He wears dark colors and an even darker demeanor. Rick is outgoing and talkative and a personality that is anything but idle. He's dressed down in jeans and a brightly colored windbreaker. They're a walking oxymoron.

"You drive here?" Rick inquires, watching as Daryl's frustration placates.

Daryl peeks at Rick from his peripheral vision before turning to him again. "Nah. Walked-why?"

Rick sees his chance and jumps to take it. "Well, it's downin' pretty hard. I could give you a lift or drop you off to where you gotta be or-"

Daryl scoffs, interrupting Rick's desperate try for words. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to, Daryl." They're stark words-intent and purposeful.

Something about the way his name rolls of Rick's tongue softens Daryl inside, but he doesn't understand why. Daryl sighs as his head tips down again, but this time, he picks at his fingers instead of pretending to look for smokes. "Wouldn't wanna inconvenience you," he utters almost silently.

"It's no trouble," Rick smiles and tilts his head to get Daryl's attention back.

Daryl almost shoots something that almost resembles upturned lips his way. Almost.

"I couldn't have you just standing out here in the thunder and lightenin'. It's the decent thing to do." Rick adds the last part just to be safe. He doesn't want to come off as pushy or demanding.

 

"Yeah," Daryl nods. "Thanks." When he looks up again, his eyes are a bit brighter, a bit more open. They're pleasant and prepossessing, but they are sadly underused. 

 

*  *

 

Before they know it or can process the fact they're walking out of the park together, they're in Rick's old, worn out car. Daryl's teeth shatter and his hands shake for reasons other than the weather outside. They're practically strangers, but this doesn't feel wrong in any way.

The drive is peaceful. Tranquil. To Daryl, the inside of Rick's car smells like dust and safety. Rick is a good person and he knows this already. It's why he's decided to be here at all.

"It's not the best," Rick says out of nowhere. "It's dad's old one."

Daryl shrugs as if to say _I don't give two shits_. "I don't mind."

After that, times seems to pass like an enigma. The silence between them isn't the slightest bit weird or uncomfortable.

Twenty minutes pass before Rick realizes Daryl didn't tell him where to be dropped off. They've been driving around town without a destination. Daryl doesn't say a word unless the other man does first. Rick works up the nerve to ask, though he keeps his eyes on the wet road ahead.

"Where'd you say your place is again?"

"I didn't," Daryl says instantly.

Rick peeks over and sees the other man looking out the window. If it were anybody else, Rick would've been slightly pissed, but not Daryl. He's just different. Unique.

"Well," Rick laughs, easing the tension a bit. "That part's kind of important."

"That so?" Daryl smartly replies, and Rick can hear the smirk in his voice though his face is partially hidden from view.

Rick playfully scoffs out loud, causing Daryl to finally turn and look at him. Rick looks just as wet and soaked through as he does, his jacket clinging to his thin upper frame and wavy hair even more unruly in it's un-dry state. Rick's eyes are wide as he grips the steering wheel just a little tighter. Daryl doesn't look away. There's a physical tension wrapped around them that's about to pop.

"You can drop me off at Dixon's Motors. It's my brother's place. I work there."

It's probably the most information Daryl's told him so far, as simple as it is.

"That I can do," Rick says before they come to a stoplight that seems to last forever. Rick is trying to appear un-effected, but his voice is giving away his insecurity.

Daryl seems to stop playing and start talking for real after the next light, though he doesn't say much. It only makes Rick hold onto every word that he _does_ utter. The way Daryl speaks makes his heart warm, and there's a part of him that knows what that means. But for now, he tries not to pay any type of attention to the feeling.

From their talk they gather that they're both in their twenties, though Daryl's a couple years older. Daryl works in his brother's bike shop to earn money. He does some of the finest repair work in town. Rick's training to be town sheriff. It's what he's wanted to be since he was younger. _My whole life I wanted to do what my dad did._  He's lived in this town since he was a kid. Daryl doesn't say whether he has too.

While he's always been wary of any type of officer, Daryl thinks the image of newly twenty year old Rick Grimes as town sheriff is funny, but ultimately endearing. He can picture the baby-faced man in uniform, his bowlegged gate protecting the town from its minor threats. He laughs, though he tries to disguise it as a cough. Rick rolls his eyes slightly, wondering why the other man won't just give up the act. He can tell it would be a pleasant sound if Daryl would just let it happen.

"What? You don't think I could do it?" Rick teases.

"Nah. It's not that, Grimes. I think you'd make a fine sheriff. I do."

He can't tell if it's a joke but he hopes to anything up in the sky that it isn't. The idea of protecting innocent people has always been a nice thought to Rick. He likes the idea so much he puts his unadulterated faith in people who could take advantage of him if they wanted to. _I think it might be my life's purpose, you know?_ Daryl feels something he can only identify as protectiveness just at the thought of anyone taking advantage of Rick. He's too pure. Too good.

Rick's heart is pounding away yet again, and thankfully, they're just about to pull up into the parking lot of the bike shop.

They park just outside and a silence falls between them, indentical to the others throughout their short day spent together.

"Um," Daryl mutters under his breath, seemingly at a loss for words-just like the other man. Rick's ocean-tinted eyes shoot back up from where they'd been looking down at his thumbs tapping away at the steering wheel.

"Thanks for the lift," Daryl settles on, "You didn' have to."

"My pleasure," Rick smiles warmly, unvocalized thoughts resting just at the tip of his tongue.

Daryl notices the twitch that's just barely there on Rick's taunt jaw. It's a seemingly unimportant detail, but he picks up on it either way.

Then, Daryl's pulling away and opening the door. Rick panics. The moment of tranquility disappears.

"Wait!" he yells over the sound of the pounding rain. Daryl ducks his head back into the car to listen to what the other has to say that's so important. There's desperation present in his voice yet again, a trait he's already begun to familiarize. "How come I never see you around town?"

"Don't get out much," Daryl shrugs, as if the reason why is obvious.

"Will I see you again some time? I mean-we live in the same place and all." Rick's words are carefully thought out, unlike Daryl, who's almost every word is unplanned and impulsive.

Daryl looks pensive, an unreadable expression soon falling over his face. "You'd want that?"

"Yeah. I would." _If you want to._

"You got paper or something? And a pen?" Daryl inquires.

Rick reaches to the back part of his old car and shuffles around for a while before coming back up with an old napkin and a pen he can only hope will work properly. Daryl takes the items regardless and writes onto the thin paper in a quick-paced manner.

"That's my phone number. You can call it if you want."

"Tomorrow sound good?" The possibility of not seeing this man again scares him so much that he's speaking without thinking. Right now, he doesn't give a damn about anything except the prospect of seeing Daryl again.

Daryl's eyebrows shoot up, and it's the first time Rick's seen him look taken aback in the couple of hours in which they've known each other. The poker face quickly falls back into its usual place.

Rick pauses, worried that he's pushing too much. Each passing moment in which he doesn't talk feels like a waste of time. This isn't the type of time he wants to waste. "I'm seeing some of my friends tomorrow. A party, I think. I think you'd like them. That's all."

The heightened octave is back, and Daryl feels desoltate, but ultimately unsurprised by it. This is what he does to people.  _He's nervous. He's trembling, for fuck's sake_. Daryl doesn't know is that it's for the opposite reason he thinks.

"I don't know, man, I'm not really into that type of thing."

Rick's expression falls at that, his smile turning into a petulant frown that he can't keep from forming. The disappointment is written all over. Daryl can tell that Rick's about to apologize or say something he doesn't mean. He interrupts before it can happen.

"Yeah, okay. I think I will. I work until two tomorrow, just-you know. Shoot me a call or a text."

The orbs of Rick's eyes brighten at that, his pupils dilating with them. "I'll do that," his lips part wide, white teeth on full display.

 _What a damn dork_. Daryl thinks. But he likes this dork even though they don't know each other too well yet.

"They'll make you feel like you've known them for years. I promise." Rick speaks about his friends as if they're the reason he's alive. It's obvious that he thinks highly of them as people. Daryl wonders for the better part of a second if he could be one of those people too. 

They've been talking outside for such a long time that the pounding has started to let up and the sun is shining through the puffy clouds up above. It's warmer than it's been in a while. Rick wants to reach out and pat Daryl's shoulder in a goodbye type of way, but something inside tells him not to. It's too soon. And Daryl doesn't seem like the type of person who likes to be touched-especially not by someone he doesn't know.

Now that they've got plans to see each other again, they're able to say goodbye and let the day go on. Daryl doesn't know how to feel. They want to know more about each other and it's not one sided or twisted up. It's difficult to understand the feeling pounding through his veins-it's somewhere between excitement and the urge to puke.This is terrifying and wonderful and so many other words he can't think up in the moment.  _Terrifying_. He's never been too fond of or good at letting people in. Not after everything he's been through with trusting the wrong people at the wrong times. But it's different this time. There's potential.

As Daryl watches Rick drives off to wherever it is he's driving to, the word _promise_ bounces around inside his skull like an idea that's too good to be true. And for the first time in a while, he's optimistic. There's different ways this could go, and one of those ways is very, very good. In his thoughts, Daryl knows this. Knows it painfully.


	2. up the ladder

Just moments with Michonne tells Daryl that she is too intelligent for her own good. It’s like she knows something that other people don’t know and has no intention to give it away. The world around her is an insignificant detail when it comes down to it.

“That’s why I want to be a journalist,” she sighs as if there’s something weighing her down. “There’s just so much to talk about, don’t you think? But at the same time, everything seems so unimportant.”

Daryl nods as if he understands exactly what she’s talking about. Michonne is talkative and open and Daryl tries to welcome it but he still has a death grip on the practically full glass of water that Rick offered him a while ago. He didn’t want it. He took it to be polite.

Rick walks back into the room just as Michonne is about to begin another deep topic Daryl wouldn’t understand but would pretend to. He plops down between them without a word, then whispering something to Michonne that Daryl doesn’t hear even as he strains his ears to listen. It must’ve been important because she immediately stops talking and shoots Daryl a look he can’t quite pinpoint.

The _party_  turned out to be a small gathering of people tucked into Rick’s even smaller apartment. Rick drove Daryl to his place from work, apologizing about the lack of personal space and inevitable mess he was about to witness the whole way there. It was pointless, because the place is ordinary and the furthest thing from dirty.

“My parents helped me get the place a while ago,” is what he said. “But I pay for it now.”

When they walked up to the floor where Rick lived and through the door, a woman he would later be introduced to as Michonne was plopped onto the sofa with her wide eyes drifting towards the t.v. and a drink between her thighs like she did it all the time.

Daryl felt a twinge jealousy at the sight, which he knew was irrational, but he couldn't help the impulse. The second she turned around and flashed a toothy grin their way, though, anything resembling jealousy instantly dissipated from him.

“You must be Daryl.”

 

* *

 

After that, things are okay.

The t.v. plays some old sitcom on the lowest volume possible. None of them are actually watching it.

For a place that goes for as low as this one, it isn't too bad-besides the inconvenient size. There's a kitchen and two wide windows with a view of the town that demonstrates the benefit to having an almost twentieth story apartment. Daryl decides that it's a nice place.

“Rick told me a lot about you,” Michonne pipes suddenly and at the same time, Rick sends a death glare her way. Michonne ignores it.

Daryl looks away from the t.v., at a loss for words.

“Just that you were coming,” Rick utters almost too adamantly. “That's it.” His thumbs are tapping away.

Daryl swallows the dry lump in his throat that had formed from being quiet for too long. Now would probably be a good time to start drinking the water he was offered, but he doesn't. “Uh huh.”

“Yeah, okay,” Michonne huffs before turning to change the channel, unimpressed.

There’s nothing prompting them to talk now, and Rick’s nervous tick is as prominent as ever. Then Michonne’s hand is on Rick’s kneecap and the tick stops with it just like that. A different type of tension penetrates the air now and yet again, Daryl doesn’t know what to make of it.

There’s a knock at the door and Daryl swears he can physically feel the tension leaving Rick’s shoulders as he gets up to answer it. They say that two’s company and three’s a crowd, so what does two more people on top of that make?

Before he knows it, a dark haired woman in a jean jacket is pushing her way past Rick with a bottle in hand. Another, more petite woman follows soon after without so much as a peek at anyone.

“This is Tara,” Rick announces as he points towards the woman already making herself at home in the kitchen portion of the apartment.

The only thing separating that room and the living room is a pathetic kitchen island that might as well not be there at all. Someone in the apartment smells like they wouldn’t pass a drug test on a good day. It’s impossible to tell who.

Tara waves at Daryl before punching the air in Michonne’s direction. Michonne laughs nearly invisibly before punching the air back.

“And this is Rosita,” Rick follows with, turning to the woman who looks pissed off enough to last days. “They're-”

“ _We’re not together_ ,” Rosita deadpans, taking a seat on the wooden floor with zero space for argument present in her tone. Rick’s bottom lip is pulled between his teeth at that.

“She's upset,” Tara laughs from on top of the kitchen island like it's no big deal. “We'll be back together by tonight.” She says it like it's a pledge, her tone unfaltering.

After what Tara postulates, Daryl understands that it isn't a joke. These two women are actually _together_ and no one has shit to say about it. He doesn't know what to think. It's not something he's used to.

“Where're Glenn and Maggie? I thought you said they were coming?” Tara practically whines, effectively putting an end to Daryl’s thoughts. She's already popping bottles and pouring drinks by the time he turns around.

Rick tells her he has no idea why they aren’t here. She can use the phone if she wants to know.

Daryl is taken aback by the casualty of it all. They seem so natural yet so dysfunctional at the same time. There's a tangible unity about them.

“You're being immature,” Tara says in Rosita’s direction. The other woman doesn't falter. “You're leaving a terrible first impression.”

“Fuck off, Tara,” Rosita utters without an ounce malice in her tone. This woman has turned her insides soft.

"Impossible," Tara utters under her breath just loud enough for them to hear it.

Daryl freezes at Tara's prior indication, looking towards Rick before he can stop himself. Apparently, he is the impressionable person in this situation.

Rick simply nods as if to say _they do this all the time_. _It's nothing to worry about._

And it isn't, because before he knows it or can process what's happening, Tara's outstretched fist is less than an inch from his. He doesn't know when she walked the short distance over to him, but here she is, unintentionally invading the space he's tried to maintain. It takes a lot of will for him not to twitch at the surprise proximity.

She waits, and Daryl doesn't know what to do. She laughs to herself, but he isn't insulted, because then she’s demonstratively tapping her knuckles into his.

“It's a fist bump,” Tara shrugs with a small smile upon her lips. “An introductory type of thing, you know?”

Daryl nods. He’s now all too aware of the dark motor oil that’s nearly permanent against his palms. He feels dirty all of a sudden. Misplaced.

“Wait, do I know you?” Tara asks out of nowhere, her face lighting up like it’s just come back to her. “Yeah, I’ve seen you at that bike place downtown, Dixon’s Motors, isn’t it?”

Daryl nods again, willing himself to take the questions but not giving any particular answers. He doesn’t recall ever seeing her at work, but he sees what has to be thousands of people per week.

She’s about to say something else when Rick intervenes. “ _Tara_.”

 A disappointed pout takes the place of her smile. Then she's shooting daggers towards the voice that spoke her name so pitifully. “You worry too much, Grimes.”

Michonne nods in agreement and turns the t.v. up a bit. Then she's up and dancing to music that isn't there. The simple happiness emanating from her whole being is palpable and even infectious. Just like she said to Daryl before, everything is just so unimportant. Tara makes unidentifiable drinks in the kitchen and Rosita sits still like a model drawn to perfection. They're individually self-possessed in a way that is the furthest thing from selfish. Daryl takes it in the best way he knows how as the pieces align themselves. 

This is just another day in Rick’s life. A tiny glimpse into a much bigger picture. Though things appear to be unflustered, Daryl's physical boundaries are being tested unknowingly by the people around him. He doesn't blame them, they just don't understand and he doesn't know how to explain that without sounding like a pompous dick.

Part of him wishes he were outside, up against some plain wall with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his unrelenting glare driving people away. Just as he's about to excuse himself to the bathroom, it's like Rick has read his thoughts. He's been watching him through his peripheral vision for however long it's been, trying not to be obvious but inevitably failing. In an unusual phenomenon, Daryl isn't uncomfortable under Rick’s watch. This portion of the day, he'll take.

“I can show you the rooftop if you want,” Rick shrugs in his direction. “It's breathtaking at night.”

“Except that it's only 4 o'clock,” Michonne utters just loud enough for Daryl to hear. There is a dangerous smirk in her oval eyes when he turns to look at her and it feels like an inside joke he's on the outside of.

This is all overwhelming and while these people are okay, he still doesn't know them and it's too much to take in at once.

“Yeah,” Daryl pipes instantly. It's the first time the majority of the party has heard him utter a word.

Tara and Rosita share a look before Rosita remembers that they aren't talking and turns back to the t.v. Michonne smiles warmly up at Daryl before tapping the back of one of Rick’s kneecaps. “Don't leave the party for too long, okay? You know I can't play host forever.”

“We won't be long,” Rick assures her in his own gentle-toned way. He says it like the two of them would die before breaking a promise to each other.

For a moment it feels like Daryl’s intruding on something personal. Not just between Rick and Michonne, but between Tara and Rosita and even Glenn and Maggie, the people who were supposed to be here instead of him.

Then, Tara is taking Daryl's spot on the sofa and he and Rick are heading out the door. They climb the impossibly tall staircase until they’re outside. This is the way they met, out in the open and unwounded. 

 

* *

 

It’s unironically windy today and Rick’s disheveled waves are proof of the weather. He and Daryl are identical in their unwillingness to speak up first. But it's just a moment. It's over like that.

“Were you okay back there?”

Daryl nods, still opting not to use words.

“I know they can be a bit too much at times.”

“They're fine,” Daryl shoots out immediately. This is enough to make Rick look away from the sky and towards him. “It's just-I don't like to be around too many people.”

Rick nods carefully, his eyebrows knit together. “I understand. Listen, I’m sorry if I was being too pushy yesterday-”

“You weren't, Rick,” he interrupts, “the way I am with people-it-you don't know me.”

 Rick ponders these words for a moment before divulging a patient sigh. Daryl speaks with interrupted thoughts and indecisiveness, but the point he wants to get across is plain as day.

“Would it be such a bad thing if I wanted to know you?” He doesn't look at Daryl this time, but he keeps him in his peripheral.

Daryl wants to say _no, it wouldn't be_. But his throat is dry and the words just won't leave the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t understand why Rick wants this, whatever it is. Whether it's friendship or something else entirely, Daryl doesn't understand why people would want to willingly spend time with a person like him. This is too much for one day, yet at the same time, it’s not enough. It doesn’t feel like it ever will be.

“You mind?” Daryl asks as he pulls a packet of cigarettes a pocket in his pants. His voice seems to deepen in tone every time he speaks.

Rick points up into the open sky and his barely disguised but all-too present grin says it all: _we’re outside_.

Daryl takes this as a yes and lights up a smoke, his shoulders immediately losing tension as he takes the first puff of tobacco. This is peaceful and underwhelming in all the right ways.

“I know you think there's something wrong with you,” comes Rick’s opine. Really, he’s just stating an obvious fact. “I can see it in the way you look down all the time. But there isn't. It's okay to be different.”

At those words, Daryl is filled with an emotion he wouldn't be able to pinpoint with the world’s most intellectual thesaurus. Up until this point, no one ever told him that it was okay to be the way he was. It’s too good to be true. He tells himself Rick is only saying this to be polite. He's only saying it because he doesn't know about the demons Daryl keeps tucked away in a place only he knows.

He wants to change the subject-detects a desperate need to. The distinct taste of tobacco remains on his tongue.

So, he tries small talk and instantly wishes he hadn't. “How long've you n' Michonne been together?”

Rick seems to awaken at that, obvious humor twinkling in his eyes that are so blue outside. For a color that inherently icy, they are the warmest thing he's ever seen.

“Huh?”

“I don’t wanna intrude, I was just wondering-”

“Oh, it's not that, Daryl,” he interrupts. “It's just that we're not together.”

A part of Daryl wonders if they're _taking a break_ like Tara and Rosita, but that idea is quickly shut down too.

The look of pure embarrassment on Daryl's face must be enough for Rick to lose the joking nature in his tone. “Don't worry about it. We get it all the time. The truth is, we thought about it once, but-well-it didn't work out. Turns out, we just weren't each other's type.” He laughs, and it's definitely an inside joke.

He pauses for a moment, still looking somewhere left of Daryl instead of into his deep eyes, as if something is preventing it. “We've known each other since we were kids. I still remember the day she moved here when I was in 4th grade,” he iterates fondly. “Yeah, we’re not together. Our friendship though, it means the world to me. I'd like to think she feels the same way.”

Rick isn't usually the type who talks just to talk. He means this. How important they are to each other is undeniable. Daryl knows this. He witnessed it the from the way they interacted after he first stepped through that doorway.

Daryl is shocked at how much information Rick is telling him, almost like they're old friends spilling innocent secrets. Maybe it's due to the drink Rick has been holding for the past twenty minutes. Perhaps the taste of alcohol has temporarily taken away his worries.

By the time they decide to begin the trek back downstairs, the sun has set and the temperature outside is freezing cold. They’re not too good at keeping track of time, but so what? What Rick said inside is true, the sky is beautiful at night. The stars and the planets illuminate the otherwise pitch black view. Afterwards, as Daryl walks behind Rick back down the tall, winding staircase, he realizes that he’s never seen a sight prettier than this one.

“You're welcome here,” Rick utters out of nowhere just as he’s about to open the door. There's a prominent tilt to his head with the words. “I just thought you should know that.”

 

* *

 

When they come back through the door, Michonne is too-obviously drunk and Tara and Rosita are kissing up against the kitchen island like there's no tomorrow. They're tangled limbs and pulsating lips and _they are so in love_. Daryl looks away almost instantly. Rick is unphased. Just like Tara said earlier, they're together tonight.

Rick is watching Michonne with worry dwindling through his wide eyes. He's walking towards her with an intention set.

“How much have you had to drink?” he sighs as he kneels down in front her, his hands placed over her wobbly knees. Her face is hidden from view between trembling fingers.

“I don't know,” she groans, and when she looks up, there are tears in her eyes. But they aren't upset tears. They're purely intoxicated ones.

“You know I can't let you drive tonight,” Rick says in a voice that's probably the most serious Daryl's heard from him.

Michonne simply nods, knowing pressing the issue isn’t worth it. “Water?”

“On it,” Rosita calls from the kitchen before Rick can utter a word.

Her cherry-tinted lipstick has already been reapplied like a true professional. Her top is readjusted into place. Tara is buttoning her pants back up from where she leans against the oven. Then she's pulling her wild threshes up into a ponytail.

“I'll get the ibuprofen." She is already heading towards the tiny bathroom, unwilling to wait for a response.

“Thanks,” Rick calls to the two of them without turning.

Daryl watches silently as they perform their drill. For a second, he thinks they’ve forgotten his presence in the dark. He waits and waits as they take care of their young, intoxicated friend instead of leaving her to deal with it on her own.

“Glenn called a little while ago,” Rosita says as she places the water on the table, deciding that Michonne probably shouldn't be trying to grasp it right now.

Rosita sits beside her drunk friend and rubs her back softly. There is genuine pity set into her otherwise unanimated features. “Maggie came down with something at work. He's taking care of her tonight.”

Tara comes back with the pills after that, and together, she, Rick and Rosita walk Michonne to a door that Daryl can only assume is the one to Rick’s bedroom. If he even has one in a place this tiny.

He hears Tara's voice from where he stays put in the t.v. area. It's turned off for the first time today and he is once again left alone with his thoughts. He still feels like he's prying into something, but the feeling is less present.

Idle, whispered conversation continues to echo through the walls. When Daryl looks towards the clock's glowing figures, it's half past ten. Time has gone by unrelentingly, proving that there is never enough of it in one day.

 

 * *

 

The door opens some time later, but only Rick emerges.

“She okay?” Daryl asks, real concern lacing his under-toned voice.

“Will be. She can tough it out, I'll tell you that.”

Then Rick is close again and the universe feels that much more insignificant. He sits a thought-out distance away and places his hands beside his thighs like a terrible explosion will go off at any wrong movement.

“I invited you here because I wanted you to be here. But you can leave any time you want to. The door’s open.”

To this, Daryl doesn't respond. The offer is gentle and left to his own interpretation. But his decision was made hours ago. He wants this too.

The younger man taps his thumbs against his thighs out of habit in favor of picking at them like a kid would. His jaw twitches and a plump bottom lip is pulled between his teeth with enough pressure to break the delicate skin. It feels like deja vu.

By the time Daryl peeks his way, Rick is staring at one of the demons tattooed to his upper arm. He isn't even trying to hide it this time-unlike yesterday. It's a question waiting to be asked. Daryl’s heard it all before, but this time, with this person, he knows he won't mind answering.

“What's that one for?” Rick gets straight to the point. His curiosity on the topic has been eating him up since the previous day in the park.

“It's dumb, I dunno,” Daryl feigns tiredness in a hopeless attempt to hide his shyness.The two of them are alone again. “My brother-he wanted my first one to be _badass_ or whatever. Said it would make me look cool and older, somethin’ like that.”

Rick ponders this for a moment. “And that one?” He points to the star permanently inked just below his thumb. It's clear that Rick has been thinking about this for a while, and now that he knows Daryl is willing to tell him at least this part of his life, he isn't holding back.

“My old man didn't want me to get anything like it. Said it wasn't proud or _manly_ enough,” Daryl says with disgust laced throughout his words. He doesn't have to keep talking for Rick to know that that is exactly why he got it tattooed.

“Your dad was probably different,” Daryl whispers. Previous hesitation is thrown out the window and he isn't even drunk. “Mine was a piece of shit. Was a damned terrible excuse of a person.”

When he looks up into the blue of Rick’s eyes for the what has to be the thousandth time that evening, there is an immovable sadness there. If there's anything opposite to what he wants, it's this. He thinks that perhaps he's revealing too much. After all, they aren't repenting unspoken sins, they're just talking.

“My dad wouldn't’ve let me get a tattoo,” Rick finally whispers back. It's the only thing he can think to say for the time being. They don't know why they're being quiet when they're the only two in the room, but they are.

Daryl huffs out at that. It almost sounds like a laugh and it makes Rick smile in a way that is nothing short of pure and true. Plump lips pull back from white teeth, an uneven grin on display just for Daryl. The oxygen is knocked from his lungs at the sight of it.

“What about this one?” Rick continues like he doesn't notice.

The next twenty minutes go this way, everything else ignored for the time being. They've made it onto Daryl’s left arm now, where he's identifying his tattoos with what definition he knows how to. This feels okay, as peculiar as it is. The ink etched into his skin is the only permanent thing Daryl's ever known.

When they come across the last of Daryl's visible tattoos, the second demon, Rick decides to be bold. There are others, but Daryl isn't prepared to talk about those yet.

“Uh-do you mind if I-can I touch it?” There's a tremble to his words, but he says them either way.

“Yeah.” The single word he utters is definitive and unshakable. Daryl is shocked at his own admission. Besides Tara's fist bump earlier, he hasn't willing let another person touch him in weeks. He can't even really remember the last time.

Rick's palm is about to come in contact with Daryl for the first time when the door reopens just inches away. The insecurity is back-what was about to happen is halted. And god, the interruption is painful.

 

* *

 

It's Rosita who comes out first, and she's unaware of what's taking place-or she just doesn't care.

“I don't know what the hell Tara’s doing in there, but it's working.”

“Did she drink the water? Tell me she didn't puke anything up,” Rick says as an afterthought.

“Oh yeah, she drank it all down. Passed out. No puke." There is an unnoticeable pause. "At least not yet."

They work like an operation. Imperfect, but they work.

Tara comes out then, just as Daryl predicted she would, her neutral expression quickly making way to a wince. She knows what Rick is going to say. Their timing is impeccable in its inconvenience.

“Damn it, Tara, what happened to watching her?”

“She's 18 years old,” Tara utters back.

“ _Exactly_. You know she has a drinking problem. There's no way she'll be able to stay in that writing program if she doesn't sober up.” Rick brings his palms up to rub at his temples. Daryl watches on.

“You told her you wouldn’t be up there long.” Tara is right, of course. Neither of them can possibly be in the wrong if they both fucked up.

“Whatever,” Rick says suddenly, “Next time, no drinks-no drugs. She's too young for that shit.”

Daryl is witnessing a protective side to Rick unfold before his eyes. This innocent, driven boy is suddenly a man with danger scarcely hidden under a poker face. It isn't directed at anyone in particular, but it's enough to shake him.

“We’re all too young for that shit,” Tara deadpans. Her voice is unintentionally icy and Rick tenses.

Tara is kind and placid most of the time, so this is surprising. They're both tired and a little too drunk and they don't mean the words they spit out.

“ _Damn it_ Rick, step off your imaginary pedestal. You're not her dad and she doesn't need you pretending you are. Don't act like you didn't used to do what she does too your first year. You remember how difficult things were for you? So what I let her drink a little and she got a little drunk? It happens to everybody.”

Rosita clears her throat, which gets their attention immediately. There is disappointment written all over her stature, disapproving gaze intense.

“But I was acting immature, huh?” she laughs in Daryl's direction before she watches them sink back into their previous positions. She’s the only one whose poker face has remained intact. This is all just fun to her. Drunk and unadulterated, but fun nonetheless.

They back off after that and their dispute is forgotten.

To Daryl, this is probably the weirdest part. The way they're able to settle down as if they were just playing. He remembers lesser fights with his older brother ending much worse. But these people are friends and they aren't like his older brother. Nobody is inferior here.

 

* *

 

It's nearly 12 o’clock when Daryl checks the time again, and the static of the day has finally hit him as he lets out a yawn.

Tara is just waking up with her head in Rosita’s lap on the floor under the t.v. His uninterrupted solace with the wavy-haired twenty year old is his over before it's had the opportunity to begin.

Rick’s eyes are trained into the window in the kitchenette. His thoughts have gotten the better of him tonight. Daryl hasn't spoken for nearly two hours. The only thing he's had to drink the whole time is water, and it's probably in everybody's best interest.

“Maybe next time you can meet Glenn and Maggie,” Rosita offers in a whisper. It takes Daryl a moment to register that she's talking to him.

Though she's tired, she's in a considerably better mood than she had initially been. She’s looking up at Daryl expectantly.

“They're even more disgustingly into each other than we are,” Tara jokes.

Rosita rolls her eyes fondly but tries to play it off like she's annoyed. It doesn't work. Then she's pushing into her partner in warning. The palpable tension from earlier is a thing of the past.

“Yeah,” he says. It's that simple. But words were always one thing and actions were another.

 _This is normal. This okay_. He repeats this in his thoughts like a mantra. Like it's a poem that's too important to forget. It's painful and it burns. But it's good too.

Out of nowhere, Rick laughs. He isn't drunk anymore. Two pops and one leftover piece of pizza took care of that. He's watching the t.v. again and he's the type of tired where everything's funny even if it isn't. The sound is the most pleasant thing Daryl thinks he's heard in years.

“I can drive you home if you want,” Rick yawns out.

“I can walk,” Daryl immediately shoots back. He knows he won't win.

“Do we have to do this again?” Rick teases tiredly. “It's no trouble.”

Daryl utters an okay just as Rick stretches his thin upper limbs outward and lets out another yawn.

“I’d offer but, I live just downstairs,” Tara says sheepishly as she gets to her feet. She's genuine even though it's past 12 o’clock. Her shoulders droop tiredly. It's every bit as endearing as her personality is.

Remembering how his dead mother always told him that _there’s something better out there in the world that you deserve_ , he thinks this is it. With these people in this place.

Daryl says okay again because he isn't sure if they heard it before, and Rick takes it as a cue to grab his car keys from the kitchen island.

Tara holds her fist out without warning, and this time, Daryl bumps it without a second thought. She smiles wide at that, nodding her head slowly in approval.  
“Until next time, Dixon.”

He's so tired that isn't sure if he dreamt up Rick kissing Tara’s knuckle and whispering that he's sorry he yelled before she and her partner go back to their own place. Or Tara whispering back that he had nothing to be sorry for, that they were both drunk idiots talking just to talk. Either way, it's tender and he doesn't forget the image.

 

* *

 

He doesn't allow himself to feel any type of joy until it's over. Because even if things seemed to be going well, there was always the potential for things to get worse. His dad taught him that before he took his first step. Before he spoke his own words.

He tells Rick to drop him off a couple blocks from his place.

"I can walk the rest of the way. Place isn't far," is what he says. Technically, it’s true. Technically.

Rick drives off after giving Daryl a jacket to wear, which he tries to argue with, but Rick insists and won’t pull away until he takes it.

“You’ll give it back next time.” And there are those words again- _next time_. Ultimately, the decision has already been made.

When he really does drive off, the world is quiet in a way that’s too uncomfortable. One day has shockingly altered the way he feels about a lack of noise in this too-powerful universe. Rick’s friends were nice and welcoming, the way he promised they would be.

Just like that, Daryl is alone again, wandering through the dimly lit street with nothing but a thin vest and an old pair of work boots to keep him warm. He doesn’t put the jacket on. He can’t bring himself to do it yet. It smells like Rick’s old car and it makes his heart pound inside his usually underwhelmed chest. It’s the windbreaker Rick wore yesterday. It hadn't left the passenger seat.

The walk is windy and the ground is still wet from the day before. But none of this is important. He isn't even thinking about it. In some disillusioned oxymoron, none of this makes sense while he’s never understood something so vividly.

This is progress. He’ll take every distraction and every eye-opening part of it. Each trap and doorway. Because when it comes down to it, this day wasn’t what he thought it would be at all. Then it hits him: _they are still so young_. They've got nothing but time.


End file.
